Page 120 of Off the Rails

“Take a senator, yeah?” Nash piped in from the kitchen. “There are bets all the time about what kind of events they might be at. Maybe they’re not participating in Lionshare’s bets. But their staffers might be.”

“That’s illegal, no?” I furrowed my brows.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. That shit is barely regulated.”

“It’s just the lottery with more steps,” Cyrus scowled. “He’d have better odds at a casino.”

I shrank back into the couch, mind reeling with how much money I’d sunk into contracts on Lionshare. I thought that I was losing because I just hadn’t studied the market hard enough. But was it possible that the game was rigged against me from the start?

“What’s wrong?” Blade looked back at me over her shoulder, eyes narrowed.

“What? Nothing.” I cleared my throat.

Clearly I wasn’t convincing though.

“You’re pale as a sheet, Sweet Lamb. Spill.”

My skin went clammy as I tried to find the words to explain.

But Cyrus was on it first. “Did you⁠—?”

“I was just trying to make the most of my earnings,” I spat out. “It was supposed to just be a couple of small investments.”

“Investments?” Cyrus’ eyes darkened.

In the kitchen, Nash nearly dropped a plate. “How much did you lose?”

“...Most of it.”

Blade visibly paled. “Oh, Trinket. We could have helped you…”

Hot frustration prickled at the corners of my eyes. “Why are you all acting like I killed someone? I’m already embarrassed enough without the theatrics.”

“No, you’re right,” Nash murmured from the kitchen. “We’re just worried about you is all. You were trying your best, though. It’s okay.”

“It certainly isn’t fucking okay.” Cyrus was on her feet, pacing back and forth in front of the TV.

“What are you so fucking mad about?” I glared. “It’s not like you care what happens to me.”

“I don’t care about you, I care about my fucking money.”

“Your money?” I scoffed.

But her expression only darkened. “Mine. Just like everything else in this park. I’m not paying you to flush my cash down the drain on some gambling racket.”

“No, you’re paying me to entertain you.”

“God,” she roared. “I fucking wish you were entertaining.”

The jab had barely landed before she wheeled to face Nash and Blade, seething. “If your plaything wastes any more of my money, you’re dead. Figure it out.”

And with that, she stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Nash frowned at the door. “I don’t know why she’s like this.”

“Beats me,” Blade murmured. “But I call dibs on her share of the waffles.”

“What a fucking bitch,” I scoffed. I was still trying to wrap my head around her outburst, the utter entitlement of it all.